#<- THAT TAG IS THE ONLY SENTENCE THAT MATTERS

[aurossaga]

You Turn my Shield on Me

Venti x gn!reader

Genre: i don't know i just write. no more questions

Word count: ~ 1.2k

Warnings: Mentions of a battle, weaponry

Summary:

He always asked if you'd protect him on your excursions. Turns out, he never needed to be protected after all.

The setting sun is doing little to warm you as you push yourself up from the cold, muddy ground. Your heart hammers wildly in your chest, chasing that rush of adrenaline as the sound of battle stills. Your weapon, dropped a distance away from you in the fray, glimmers mockingly at you as the light catches it. You had stumbled and fallen, but… that hardly matters right now. No, there are much more pressing matters at hand.

You look up at the man standing in front of you. His back still turned your way, an arm reaching out ready to draw another arrow at a moment’s notice. His moves are careful and practiced, practically perfectly honed. You’ve only ever seen aristocrats fight with such elegance and precision before…

Which is why this makes no sense.

“You’ll promise to protect me, right?”

It’s what he always says when you two go out exploring together. Or, rather when you go exploring and he tags along out of boredom. And you had always assured him that you’d never let harm befall him, always promised that you’d be his shield. After all, he was a novice at archery, he claimed. A bow was a difficult weapon to defend oneself with in the heat of battle without exceptional mastery of it.

Arrows still surging with Anemo energy litter the now desolate grounds turned battlefields. Each and every one of them had hit its target. Clean, lethal blows. As you finally catch your breath, remembering to breathe properly amidst your confusion, you see him turn to cautiously check on you.

“Are you alright…?”

…

There are so many things you want to say. So many things you want to ask. Your jaw drops open a few times over, you sputter and stutter and mumble out half-baked words and jumbled sentences until you give up, closing your mouth, and give him a slow, cautious nod. You are unharmed. And it was no thanks to yourself.

Venti watches you for another long moment. His eyes, much more focused than usual, scan you for injuries regardless of your insisting that you are fine. He knows you well. Quickly, that look is replaced by the familiar one you are so accustomed to. One you now doubt the sincerity of, just  a little bit. His shoulders relax and he exhales in relief for a moment before his posture straightens back up, his bow lowering to his side.

“Well, that’s a relief… We sure were lucky these monsters were on the easier side!”

Those words sting a lot more than you expected, though you can’t quite pinpoint why. Perhaps it’s because you know it’s not quite true. Perhaps It’s because you know those enemies hit hard. Fast. Ruthlessly.

And they certainly don’t stall for long enough for an inexperienced archer to pluck them off one by one like that.

And yet…

“You were incredible back there.” The words slip out before you can think to stop them. You’re not quite sure if it’s words of praise or an accusation. His mastery of the bow, the precision in his strikes… You couldn’t wrap your head around it. He said he wasn’t capable of that. That he needed your protection.

He blinks, and for a moment, his eyes shy away from yours, his lips pressed together a bit firmer than usual. Maybe this is what guilt looks like on him. But then he smirks, the easygoing, almost careless expression you’ve grown so accustomed to returning as if it had never left in the first place.

“Really, now? Praise from my most dearest muse, is it? I must fetch my pen at once, lest I mistake it for a dream!”

You’re not sure what comes over you. His words were nothing out of the ordinary from him, he’d tease and poke fun all the time. But… For him to act so casually, so normal after a display like that…

It irritates you.

“You said you were a novice,” you practically snap. “That it was just a hobby.”

“And you don’t believe me?” His tone is light, teasing, but there’s something guarded in his eyes. He steps closer, offering a hand to help you up. You hesitate for just a moment, but you take his hand, only now realizing that those delicate hands that pen the most beautiful prose you’ve ever read are firmer, sturdier than you could recall. Or perhaps you were only noticing now that you knew to look for it. He pulls you up to your feet with ease.

“I… No! Why should I?” you demand, brushing dirt from your roughed up clothes. “I’ve never seen you fight like that before..! Or, at all, for that matter! What was all that?” You gesture to the field littered with arrows and fallen enemies, your eyes never leaving his.

He tilts his head innocently to the side, his smirk fading slightly.

“Does it… matter that much?”

“Yes, it matters!!!” you exclaim, the words spilling out before you have the time or restraint to stop them. “It matters because I trusted you to rely on me! And now I find out you didn’t need me at all?”

There it is. The heart of your frustrations, the reason your chest aches as much as your bruised body. You’ve always been the protector, the shield, someone you wanted him to rely on. To feel safe with. And he’d let you believe he needed you, too. But now that picture in your mind breaks into a thousand pieces, and you both know very well you won’t be able to put it back together, no matter how much you try. You were too smart to believe his words, his deflections.

You hang your head, your gaze falling down to the muddy grounds beneath you. Though you can’t see his face, you can practically hear his emotions in the tone of his voice. It’s… raw. A bit more intimate than you think he intended.

“I never said I didn’t need you,” he whispers, his voice low and even as he takes a step closer. “I just don’t want to stand in the way of your talent…”

He seems almost unsatisfied with his own choice of words. Slowly, his hand reaches out, searching for yours, taking hold of and wrapping around your fingers so delicately as if he’s asking permission.

“...My warrior, you would have had this in the box, regardless if I stepped in or not. I just… didn’t want to see you hurt. You don’t need my protection, but… you have it.”

It’s not quite an answer, and it certainly doesn’t answer as many questions as you would have liked. But, there’s an honesty in his tender voice that makes your heart hammer again. Your lips part, intending by all means to press him further, to demand answers about his skills, his lies…but the words die on your lips as your shoulders sag to match the dejected feeling of reluctant acceptance. You knew better than anyone how avoidant Venti could be when faced with such a direct accusation. You knew better than to press further to achieve nothing.

“...Okay. Let’s go home.”

His grip on your hand tightens, bringing your attention back to the moment. And as you walk home, he doesn’t let go of you even once. His grip is gentle, apologetic, begging for understanding and time to explain what happened today. And, albeit reluctantly, you grant him that grace as your fingers interlace with his.

[dear-lucrow]

Finally starting my new fic! Here is the first chapter of

Devil on my Shoulder

Rating: Explicit (mostly for violence and angst reasons right now, although it might become a tiny bit smutty in the future)

Pairing: Payneland!

POV: Multi

Most important tags: angst, hurt/comfort, evil doppelgangers in their Bonnie and Clyde era, falling in love

Triggers: canon trauma, violence, depiction of a toxic relationship (not the main romance!)

Length: who the fuck knows, but this one is gonna be long!

First sentence:

The jaws of Hell are armed with iron teeth.

Summary:

Despite himself, Charles was mesmerized by this strange version of Edwin Payne that had something of Hellfire to him. And he was so very close … “His eyes are decidedly less honest than yours. Intriguing... Never pegged Charles Rowland for a liar.”

“Careful, luv.” The voice was a sing-song drawl, accompanied by the same scraping sound drawing ever closer. “You know I get jealous.” There, lit faintly by moonlight, was Charles Rowland – face pale, grin wide and eyes cast in shadows, twirling a cricket bat that had been studded with nails glinting wickedly like iron stars. “What you think, Win? I say there can only be one.”

***

A string of mysterious grave robbings leads the Dead Boy Detectives to stumble into a ritual, summoning strange versions of themselves, who have experienced a very different afterlife. Not only is there a pack of hellhounds hot on their heels, they also won’t stop at chaos nor bloodshed to carve out their place in the world – and remove their superfluous doppelgangers in the process.

As Crystal desperately tries to master her powers and keep the fragile fabric of reality from unraveling, the boys need to stop their nefarious doubles.

But to make matters infinitely more confusing, the two delinquents are obsessively, madly in love...

[prismaticutie]

NOT TO VAGUEPOST BUT SOME PPL I FOLLOW CLEARLY DON'T FUCKING KNOW TUMBLR CULTURE AND YOU CANNOT CALL URSELF A TRUE TUMBLRINA IF YOU DON'T RESPECT NIGHTVALE

[itscherryterry-again]

the man the myth the balls

[rainbowsandwhumperflies]

The Winged Servant - 13

content warnings: brainwashed whumpee, non-human (angel) whumpee, some weird angel discrimination, let me know if I missed anything!

prev chapter | masterlist

Badly, actually, was how I felt about crepes.

It wasn’t the crepes that were the problem. It wasn’t the sloppiness that required eating them, not even how unprofessional I had to be to eat them in front of someone.

No, mostly the problem was the people. And maybe the fact that I’d slept sitting up against a wall for four hours total the night before, and I was starting to feel a pinch between my eyes.

Kieran led me up a staircase, back to the ground level of the castle. I had been there the night before, when I had been too focused to look around. It felt more like a pavilion than an entire floor of the castle. There were a few walls, a few separations of rooms, but it was mainly held up by columns and pillars. There were tables all over, going past the ends of the columns and all the way outside. Two guards stood by a table together on the edges. I wondered if they were standing in the place where the royal family had killed a guard the night before.

“We hold breakfast and dinner here every day for anyone that wants it,” Kieran was saying as we walked past empty tables. “It’s not usually super popular, because there aren’t always a lot of different options of food, but it’s nice for people to have a place where they’re guaranteed a meal. Crepes are usually a hit, because they’re so customizable, but most everyone’s cleared out by now.”

It didn’t look to me like most everyone was cleared out. I counted four tables outside and two inside with people sitting at them. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see how many people attended during actual meal times.

And we walked into a kitchen, and it was so loud. I must’ve been around large groups of people at least a few times before I gave my memories to the royal family, but not since becoming a servant. And for the more recent years of it, I hadn’t even served families of nobility. The sound echoed and bounced around, getting stuck in my head like peanut butter on the roof of my mouth.

“What do you want on your crepe?” Kieran asked as we walked into the kitchen, and I swallowed. There had to be at least forty people working here.

“Whatever you see fit, sir.”

He grinned at me, looking slightly confused. “It’s a crepe for you, Onyx. Not me.”

“I don’t…” I glanced to the side. Enunciate, don’t mumble, don’t trail off in the middle of a sentence. I knew how to do this, knew how to answer questions the way that the royal family liked, even when I was tired. “I’ve never had a crepe, sir,” I admitted.

“Really? Never? Do you know what they are?”

“Yes, sir. I think- I think I might have had them before, but… not any time recently. I don’t remember. My apologies. Regardless, I will be grateful for whatever you wish to provide me with.”

“... Okay.” He stared at me for a bit. “If I tell you a few different toppings, will you tell me which ones you like the best? We could go from there.”

“Sir, I don’t- good servants don’t have likes and dislikes.” He had to know that, right? We were in the kitchen of a castle, surrounded by people that were presumably servants. He had to have been testing me, making sure I knew the rules. I did. I could be good.

“You’re not supposed to have likes and dislikes?” he repeated, and I shook my head. “That’s- um, we’re gonna talk about that later. Once you’ve got food in your stomach. Do you have certain toppings that you might be… more grateful than others about?”

This was dangerous territory. If I let myself think too hard about the toppings, I was veering into likes and dislikes and opinions. If I didn’t, I’d be ignoring direct orders.

“Usually I have Her Majesty The Queen’s leftovers for breakfast, sir,” I said quietly. “And I usually get some toast that she doesn’t always eat, and it has strawberry jam on it.”

“You like strawberries?”

I could be a good servant. No likes or dislikes, but I could be good enough to find a way around it. I didn’t like strawberries, that would’ve been opinionated. But maybe if I worded it differently? More objective? “Strawberries… taste good. Sir. I think.” I wasn’t supposed to think, or at least not like that, so the statement wasn’t quite right. But closer, because Kieran was grinning again. Like he’d discovered a cheat code in a video game.

“Yeah. Okay. Thank you for telling me that, Onyx. We’ve got strawberries. Is whip cream okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Great. That’s like, the two most important ingredients for every crepe I eat. Do you have any dietary restrictions?”

Hm.

I knew what dietary restrictions were, of course. I had plenty of restrictions, dietary and otherwise. Of course there were things I couldn’t do, things I couldn’t eat. But they were restrictions imposed by the royal family. There was fruit that made my throat itch, or things that Prince Ryan made sure not to give me, but those weren’t things that I couldn’t eat. Not if someone asked me to.

“I, um. I will eat whatever you see fit, sir. Would you like to know the things that the royal family did not allow me to eat?”

He pursed his lips. Wrong answer, then, but that didn’t make sense. That wasn’t just me trying to think of the right thing to say, that was an exact line from the script that I was always supposed to follow. That was what the royal family had trained me to say.

But Kieran was not the royal family. Of course he had different rules, different uses for his servants. Of course my old script wouldn’t cut it anymore.

“Okay,” he said eventually. “I don’t want to know what the royal family didn’t let you do. I’m going to get you a crepe with strawberries and whip cream. There are other fruits, if you’d like any?”

“... I will eat whatever you see fit, Sir.” I already knew that was wrong, but what the fuck else was I supposed to say?

“Are you at all interested in blueberries? Or mangos?” I hesitated, and he smiled thinly. “I know. Whatever I see fit. Alright, then. I’ll get the other fruit for you too. If you find a seat somewhere, I’ll bring it out in a few minutes. I like eating outside the best, but we can eat wherever you’d like.”

“Of course, sir,” I managed weakly.

Find a seat somewhere.

A daunting task, because the tables meant six tables of people that I didn’t know if I was supposed to bow to or what titles to call. But regardless, it was a task that had been asked of me.

I could manage whatever task I needed to that had been asked of me.

This task was different, though. It was a choice given to me. Choices weren’t given to me. Servants were for orders. And I supposed it wasn’t a real choice—I was picking the one that I thought Kieran would prefer the most—but it was still terrifying.

Outside, first. That’s what he’d said, that he liked the tables outside the best. Four tables with people at them. Three—one group had left in the time since I’d been out here. Three tables of people. And when I was next to a person, of course, all my attention was supposed to be focused on them. Serving them to the best of my abilities. Alone out here, with three tables of people, I was forced to notice the way they stared at me. Or rather, my wings.

This wasn’t new, exactly. Back when noble families were allowed to know about me, the queen had told me to hold still while they felt the texture of the fur on my wings. They’d never felt anything like it, they’d said. Fascinating, they’d called me. They would’ve loved to see me fly, and it was the only time I thought Her Majesty might have regretted breaking my wing.

And it was her right to display me. It was the nobility’s right to stare, to pet my wings and ask how much force it would take to rip the skin that stretched between each bone.

I just wasn’t used to the staring anymore, that was all. If Kieran planned to have me out in public more often, then perhaps I needed to get used to it again.

I eventually chose a table close to the door, so that Kieran would not have to walk far to get to me. So that he would not need to look hard to ensure that I did not run away. I wouldn’t, no matter how many privileges I was given, but it was still odd to give me so many. Outside, alone, picking a seat and waiting for breakfast to be delivered to me. It was wrong. It was not how things were supposed to be.

And yet, it was how Kieran wanted it to be. So I stared at the grain in the wood that the table was made out of and ignored the way that people were staring at me.

~

taglist: @rainydaywhump @kaleidoscope-of-thoughts @toyybox @risk606

[mitamicah]

.

[carmenlire]

I've had this taegyu idea floating around since january but I'll readily admit that it is extremely similar to httbt so like on one hand I am absolutely a reader who often thinks "man I wanna read what I just read but new" plus it's in an entirely different fandom but on the other hand like it's literally rockstar beomgyu and probably math teacher taehyun (or maybe grad student, potentially gym owner?).

(lowkey i ended up like fully plotting out the fic/recapping my twt thread so i'm putting the rest under a cut lol.)

like whereas alec was a top 40 sensation solo pop artist, very much channeling biggest name in the industry, beomgyu would be frontman for an indie/niche band (honestly i'm picturing chase atlantic 100% whereas alec was like a tswift) but his band still sells out its tours and is somewhere on the charts, making a very respectable sum.

Beomgyu is feeling ennui, uninspired, very jaded but in a more. . . angsty way than alec? i imagine this fic to be darker/more emotional than httbt with A Big Conflict towards the end where one of them severely fucks up in classic fic fashion.

of course, i've already thought of the opening scene and it makes me realize how totally predictable i am because it's an extremely late night/early morning run-in where taegyu are obviously at very different points in their lives but they have A Conversation and it's the first time beomgyu has felt interested/intrigued by something in forever and taehyun-- actually here's a difference-- he actually has no idea who beomgyu/his band is. beomgyu, ofc, likes that. taehyun just sees a hot guy who's a little fucked up but aren't we all.

looking at my twt thread, i talk a lot about how during that first meeting, beomgyu talks a lot in half-truths, unsure if he can trust taehyun and taehyun is just blunt as always, very no bullshit. they both walk away feeling amped up-- beomgyu feels a little bit like he got an ass kicking, a breath of fresh air and taehyun is intrigued in his own way about this guy who's full of contradictions.

they keep running into each other at the park at these really intimate hours (beomgyu clearing his head/going out whenever there's less of a chance of him being seen and taehyun on his morning runs). eventually one morning, the sun is shining when they both look up and taehyun recommends a lowkey breakfast spot he knows nearby.

despite there clearly being something between them, beomgyu isn't in a place to be in a relationship and taehyun is up front about what he wants/needs and they both respect the other. of course, that doesn't stop them from growing closer until they're like best friends.

constantly texting, both of them start to depend on the other-- on their phone calls, a few minutes of stolen time, on finding the most out of the way restaurants with the best samgyeopsal.

everyone around them knows Something's going on even if taegyu remain infuriatingly tightlipped, both of them wanting to protect this thing between them. the secret relationship aspect is a lot more illicit in this than it was in httbt-- there might not be tabloids to worry about but beomgyu's had a lot of years in the business to grow jaded even if he wishes he could be as open as taehyun. There are some growing pains even if they are both fully invested/committed, even if beomgyu loves being with taehyun and can't get enough.

i'm picturing a classic fic blow-up thanks to beomgyu's rockstar past (?) clashing with taehyun's firm stance on open communication and no bullshit (the blow-up is nothing out of the usual for fic but bc i tend to really love Healthy Communication, i've never written this kinda conflict before but i do think it'll actually fit this au setup and not merely be an excuse for angst lol).

anyway, they totally break up over That Mess and cue beomgyu losing it a little. he gets drunk, writes songs about taehyun, implicitly dedicates those songs to him on stage. he hooks up with someone and feels fucking awful.

he ends up eventually (let's be real they'll probably only be broken up for like a month bc i can't do too much angst lol) doing some soul searching/reflecting on the past months with taehyun and realizing the error of his ways (and even as he was doing it, he was kicking himself bc he didn't even mean the words, he didn't wanna hurt taehyun but his mouth just started without his brain and heart's input rip).

meanwhile taehyun is totally heartbroken (while he seems fine on social media he's kinda falling apart irl) but he was always up front about what he needed from beomgyu if they were gonna do this and he won't bend his own needs and worth just to be with beomgyu.

obviously happy ending!!!! and you know i'll have to include some serious established relationship fluff to make up for all the pain :')

all of which to say..... like i know the premise is very similar to httbt and i feel like there's even more of a spotlight on it since it is obviously my most prolific work (which did also come from a chase atlantic song lmao) but there are differences too???? so like i should just write what i want right?? like especially because i'm worried about being too close to my own work, like it doesn't even matter? and there are some key differences? idk :( i just know i really like the idea.

[bi-bats]

congratulations u played urself >:3 im moving in here

AJDJSKAK LMAOOOO HEY BESTIE WELCOME TO THE SECRET ACCT YOUVE LEVELED UP

[unproduciblesmackdown]

hell yes my "deniably casual sexual encounter in taylor's apartment babeyyy" wip is over 7k words already and i haven't even gotten to the part where anyone's kissing yet. so far it's all In Effect taylor going "is there like, an energy here or is it just me" (there is) in this 7k< form via my classic move of providing wildly extensive introspection that Could be pared down a ton i'm sure but if i was thorough abt editing myself & my verbosity & taking thousands of words to say something, including the same things repeatedly in slightly different ways, writing anything would be all the more difficult / rarely manifested. playing to my strengths / weaknesses w/fiction out here like, see that last billions fic scene that's Supposed to be largely winston somewhat going in circles stuck in his head and also sexual activity. seizing the premise for this one like, taylor being all I'm Extra Pensive Atm But What If That Sets Me Up To Be More Spontaneous When I Go Back Into The Living Room And Quants Have Something Going On. i've triumphantly managed to get taylor out of the living room in the first place and now their being able to return any minute now as soon as i wrap up their thinking about how their quants are sure like special little guys (extraordinary) (least veil of neutrality; readily positive)

[rhynerd]

Okay, @mythic-menagerie, I have to know, what's the second one?

people in warframe universe are too chill about the moon, that been gone for so long that almost no one even know what the hell is this, return out of nowhere. if i saw the planet like thing suddenly appear in the sky on day, visibly fucked up, i would probably just die

[head-without-a-fucking-brain]

Istg writing fanfics would be much more easier and fun if i was just confident about my english skills. ಠ⁠︵⁠ಠ

[belovedmusings]

Am I Playing All Right Now?

Kento Nanami x You

Explicit Smut 18+ (🚫Minors DNI🚫)

Kento Nanami has been your respectful, loving boyfriend for two months now. All you’ve done so far is kiss, and you want more with him. He refuses for your sake, warning of his roughness. So, you take matters into your own hands and convince him to put in ‘just the tip’. 

Relevant tags: just the tip challenge, dom! Kento Nanami, clothed sex, couch sex, clit slapping, brief use of leather belt, hard and rough sex, doggy-style, hair pulling, manhandling, big dick-Nanami <3, dirty talk, degrading, unprotected sex, creampie, I don't use "y/n" for immersion

Music recommended while reading: Dollhouse (The Weekend, Lily Rose Depp, …baby one more time (The Marias), Like U (Rosenfeld)

A/N: this is filthy and I love it, my first Nanami piece <3 enjoy!! (Read on Ao3 if you prefer!)

Read below cut:

The night had gone great. You two had a fantastic dinner at a fine restaurant, and now you’re at his house, getting hot and heavy on the couch. You’re sat in his lap, straddling his waist, the hem of your dress riding up your thighs as the fabric gives to accommodate him between your legs. Your hands are running over the muscles of his chest, only the thin layer of his dress shirt between your touch and his skin. His palms are on your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you so firmly against him that you can feel the blunt heat of his hard cock beneath the confines of his slacks. 

You can feel adrenaline pumping through your veins–tonight is the night. Every time you two get close to having sex, he pulls away, saying he isn’t ready, but right now it feels so different, so electric–

He hums, punctuating the kiss and pulling back, giving you room to breathe. Your stomach sinks, no, this isn’t what you want, you want–

“We should stop here for the night,” He murmurs, and you look into his eyes, a frown tugging your lips down at their corners. 

“But you’re hard,” You protest, “Kento, please…we’ve waited long enough, and you clearly want this…”

His jaw tightens as he takes a breath. “I do…but we can’t.”

Now you’re just confused. “...can’t?”

He sighs heavily, giving you no explanation, but nodding. “Now, let’s m–”

“No, hold on,” You interrupt him, “Kento, tell me why? I-is it me? Do you…not want…?”

“It’s definitely not you,” He dispels quickly, “It’s me, okay?”

“What about you?” You press, searching his eyes. “Is it…are you…worried about your performance?”

That gets him to widen his eyes a fraction in surprise. “N-no, it’s not that. It’s…alright, look, it’s…it’s that I don’t want to hurt you.”

It isn’t enough of an answer for you. “And…what do you mean by that?”

“You…you know me to be this nice, gentlemanly man, don’t you?” He asks, a sort of resigned weight to his eyes. “Which, I am. But not when it comes to sex.”

The wheels turn in your head. “So…you’re…?”

“I’m rough,” He finally states, “And it’s…it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. I’m afraid to hurt you or scare you away. Of course I wouldn’t do anything you don’t want, but…you just seem so sweet and–”

“Woah,” You stop him in the middle of his sentence. “Do you think you’re the only one with duality? You don’t think I can be different in bed? Do you think I’m some porcelain doll you’ll break if you’re not careful?”

He considers this for a moment before sighing. “You don’t understand.”

“So then make me understand,” You challenge him, running your hands up his chest. “Please, Kento. I can take it.”

“No,” He denies, “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

Seeing his hesitance, you decide to switch tactics. You reach for his hands on your waist, taking his wrists and raising his palms up to the front of your dress. You guide them to rest over your breasts, allowing him to touch them through the thin cloth. You’d decided not to wear a bra for the night since the article had thin straps, and he immediately can feel that, a flash of desire flitting within his eyes.

Riding the wave of his interest, you tell him, “I want you bad, Kento.”

He inhales forcefully, allowing himself to knead the soft flesh beneath his hands. His thumbs graze over your hardening nipples, your teeth dragging over your bottom lip instinctively. To drive your point home, you grind down on him, the only thing on beneath your dress being the panties you’d hoped he’d see when you had put them on earlier in the day.

“You’re playing dangerous,” He warns, voice thin and strained. 

“Maybe I want dangerous.”

He finally lets out a groan, surging forward and capturing your lips in another kiss. It’s more forceful this time, and all you can do is give complete control to him. 

He flips your positions so smoothly, you hardly feel it; you just suddenly feel your back hit the cushion of his couch, a gasp pushed from your mouth. His hands make quick work sliding up your dress, fingers hooking underneath your waistband.

Kento speaks against your mouth lowly. “Lace?”

You swallow hard, nodding. “Yeah.”

“Expensive?”

The question catches you off guard. “Uh, no, not r–”

A swift, harsh tug and the sound of fabric ripping later, he holds the scrap lace in his hand, now mangled and unusable. He just tore them clean off.

“Holy shit,” You breathe, now suddenly aware of how bare you are beneath your dress. He must become aware of that fact too, because without a moment to spare, he’s pushing the article up to your waist, exposing you to his eyes. A rosy flush spreads over the bridge of your nose as he looks at your naked lower half unabashedly, a type of hunger you have never seen before nor known he was capable of in his eyes.

He tosses your ruined panties to the floor and fiddles with his belt, undoing the buckle. Your gaze follows his movements, watching his hands expertly tug the leather strap from its loops in his pants.

Then, he surprises you by holding the edge without the buckle and running it along your inner thigh. You shiver, observing him and wondering what his next move will be. He runs it all the way up, reaching the apex of your leg and placing it right over your mound. The cool leather feels unfamiliar there.

“Can I?”

Your attention is pulled to his voice, and for a moment you aren’t sure what he means. Then it dawns on you.

Oh.

No one’s ever done that to you. But…you aren’t opposed. You’re curious.

You nod.

“Words.”

Oh, damn.

“Yes, you can.”

“Good girl.”

You don’t have time to pay attention to the rush of hormones that praise gives you, because a harsh sting of pleasure suddenly hits your senses as he brings the end of the belt down, slapping your clit with it.

“Ah!” You jump slightly, shock, arousal, and fascination flooding you all at once.

“How was that?” He asks, watching you carefully. You take stock of yourself…and are intrigued to find that you liked it. As soon as you realize that, you understand that Kento is about to show you an entire new world previously unexplored to you.

Your eyes lock with his. “It was good.”

A mixture of relief and desire swarm his gaze. “You liked that?”

“Yeah.”

Without warning, he does it again, a little harder, and you cry out this time, unused to the strangely welcome sensation.

“Still good?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

Your next breath is shaky. “More.”

He wastes no time in delivering exactly what you want. Over and over again, until your pearl is red and swollen and the folds beneath are glistening with need, belt shiny with a bit of it. He stops once you reach this state, making sure you see as he licks it off the belt. Your lips part, entranced, and he drops the accessory, instead moving to undo the front of his slacks. Your heart begins racing–but then he pauses, seeming to deflate slightly.

“I’m not gonna go all the way,” He states, “I don’t have condoms.”

“What?” Your voice is more than a little indignant. “But…how?”

“I wasn’t planning to do this tonight.”

He pulls his cock from its restriction in his briefs, pushing his waistbands down to the tops of his thighs, and the sight of the thick, red shaft as your mouth watering and your core pulsing around nothing. 

You think he’s changed his mind as he lines it up, but then he just glides it against your folds, coating it in your essence and using it to rub against you, the feeling intense due to the sensitivity of your previously abused clit, but not what you crave.

“Kento,” You whimper, watching him rub himself off as he plays with you using his cock. “Please…”

“We’re not risking a pregnancy,” He maintains, “It’s not wise.”

You are beyond frustrated at this point, entrance weeping for attention, and you swear the desire is so bad you can feel your entire core sore and empty, vying to be filled and stretched.

What can you say that will get him to do it, even just a little bit?

Wait. Just a little bit.

“What about just the tip?”

His eyes narrow. “What?”

“Just the tip,” it comes out needier than you had intended, but god damn it you’re horny and all out of shame twice over.

Kento takes a good look at you, at himself and the position you’re in, sucking in a controlled breath for the umpth time that night.

Then, he lines up again, cockhead pressing against your entrance. “You’re going to regret asking for it.”

Is he challenging you? Whatever. What. Ever. You’ve reached a point where if you don’t get his cock soon your heart may actually give out. 

“Let me decide that.”

His jaw sets tightly before finally, finally, he cants his hips forward, pushing the tip of his shaft inside of you. 

As soon as it’s in, your head falls back on the couch, hips starting to roll without your permission. Your body wants him all on its own, and you’re no longer in command of it. He groans, pulling out and then pushing it back in, only the tip again, and you whimper in half bliss and half frustration.

You want more. 

You understand the true meaning of temptation now. You’ve had the first bite of the proverbial apple, and it’s shocking how eager you are to devour the rest to its core.

Everytime he pushes in, never going past the smooth head of his cock, you moan, wordlessly begging for more. There’s a worry in his brow and a tenseness to his jaw that indicates just how much self-control he’s exercising, and as you look up at him, you realize he’s still pretty much fully clothed—his tie is pristine around his neck, shirt fully buttoned up, only his dick out and vulnerable to your eyes. 

It’s unfair, and you seek to change that.

Your hand loops into his tie and yanks him down by it, taking him by surprise. He has to catch himself on his hands to avoid falling on you, a grunt escaping his lips as it causes him to slide further into you.

In a lowered hiss, he asks you, “what do you think you’re doing?”

The tone is so vindictive it has any words dying on your tongue. All it takes is a moment before he’s forcefully breathing out and lifting himself off of you, cock withdrawing from between your legs.

You open your mouth to protest, and that’s when your world spins. 

You were face up, but now you’re on your hands and knees on the couch, having to brace yourself as he manhandles you silently. There’s not even a moment for you to acclimate to your new position before you feel his fingers loop through your hair as you’d done to his belt, and in one motion, he grabs your hip with his free hand and slams all the way into you, pulling your hair back hard to make you arch for him.

A loud cry splits through the air and it’s only when he starts repeatedly fucking hard and fast into you with the entirety of his monstrous size that you realize the sound was from you.

“See what happens when you push me?” His voice is hoarse and gritty, more like a growl than a whisper, a dull ache inside of you where he’s currently remolding the shape of your walls.

All you can do is make incoherent noises, and you aren’t sure whether they’re from pain, pleasure, or a mixture of both. His grip on your hair isn’t letting up and it hurts, but you’ve also never felt so completely out of control of yourself and somehow it just feels freeing to you. 

“Huh?” He asks, and it’s then you realize you never replies to him verbally. You muster up the strength to speak.

“Y-yeah…” it sounds breathy and whiney, completely foreign in the contours of your voice.

“You happy now? Happy you got me to fuck you like the greedy whore you are?”

The harsh word ripples through you hotly and you moan, nodding as good as you can. “Yes…”

“Yes?” He asks, breathless, and he lets go of your hair in favor of wrapping his hand around your neck from behind. “You like being screwed like a whore?”

Apparently, you do. This is new information to you as well. You nod, gasping as he grabs your hand and presses it over your abdomen, where you can feel the flesh rising and falling in tandem with his thrusts. 

“Feel that?” He asks, “that’s me inside of you.”

“Oh god,” You rasp, the knowledge of him so deep inside your body going right to your head. You can feel your mound weeping all over yours and his thighs, the wet slap tell-tale of just how much you’re enjoying this. Just the realization has you fluttering around him, a sensation that isn’t lost on him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, “You really do like this, huh?”

You nod. “Yes, yes, Kento…”

He groans, leaning forward and kissing the juncture of your neck and shoulder, brushing your hair out of the way. 

“Such a good girl for me…my good little slut.”

You shudder, eyes squeezing shut as he speeds his movements up, the hand that was pressing yours to your stomach moving down to the slippery mess that is your swollen clit.

The big palm of his on your neck slides the thin straps of your dress down your shoulders and dips into the neckline of it, grasping your breast as if to claim ownership of it. 

“Oh my god,” You breathe again, hips twitching at all of the stimulation, face hot, entrance thoroughly fucked open and sloppy, debauched by Kento like a destructive form of artwork.

His middle finger massages circles into your sensitive pearl as he continues the grueling pace of his hips, lips pressed to the back of your neck, and all at once it becomes too much.

It crashes into you like the unforgiving wave of the raging ocean, sweeping you into the depths of pleasure.

You cum so hard on his cock he physically has to stop moving, your hold on him so tight he’s locked inside of you. That’s the moment that he follows, spilling his pent up, heavy load into you with a hiss of pleasure. 

Your arms and knees feel like jelly. Your walls are sore and throbbing, completely exhausted from his ravaging. But all you feel is feather-light. Finally, finally you did it. And it was better than your wildest imagination.

Lips place a tender kiss on your shoulder, his labored breaths slowing back to regulation. You feel his cheek rest upon the skin of your upper back. Both of his hands massaging along the sides of your hips.

“I’m sorry we waited so long. I just figured it would be too intense for you.”

You shake your head, turning it to look back at him as he straightens up and carefully pulls out. 

“Don’t do that again.”

The corner of his lips turns up slightly. “Oh no, I won’t make that mistake twice. In fact…there’s something else I want to do now.”

“And what’s that?”

“I want to test your limits.”

__

A/N: here's my Nanami masterlist :) this is the first piece but lmk what else you want me to write for him! Hope you enjoyed.

[silverskyeline]

'bad idea, right?' 18+ dofp!logan x f!reader

summary: your father hired him to protect you, not to fuck you. but logan never really liked playing by the rules. (1.7k) tags: set in the 70s, logan goes down on reader, fingering, squirting, lots of dirty talk, messy, overstimulation if you squint, logan calls the reader 'princess, babygirl' etc, for the 'timetravel' prompt for logan promptober.

"that's it, there we go. . ." logan hums, his voice muffled as he eagerly laps at you with his large tongue, "daddy never let you have any fun, babygirl?"

he grins, ". . . but, daddy ain't here right now though, is he?"

you know this is a bad idea, know you shouldn't be doing this. your father's vengeance upon the stranger between your thighs would be so swift and cruel, but you find yourself unable to care.

his tongue expertly drifts through your wet folds as he groans, sending reverberations right to your core. those large, calloused paws of his grip at your thighs, his thick digits pressing into your soft flesh deeply. he's messy, the best kind of messy, lapping at you like an animal, like a man deprived.

"taste so fuckin' good," he grumbles against your pussy, deep hazel eyes finally opening to look up at you. they're glazed, and so is he, his chin dripping with your slick. but he's not done with you yet, "look how fuckin' wet you are already, you're literally dripping. . ."

your cheeks flush at his almost mocking tone, fingers threading through his hair as if to encourage him. you're not sure how you got here, except you are. the moment he walked through that door, sent by your father to protect you, you felt an ache build between your legs.

you could tell he sensed it too, the way his words and sentences were crafted almost expertly to have you wet and wanting all within twenty minutes of first laying eyes on him. no other guard has ever had you moaning like this, soaked like this, splayed out on your back like this.

but you're pulled from your thoughts when his lips wrap around your clit, sucking gently. your head falls back, moans spilling out into the apartment your father had rented as the man your father had rented devours you.

"such pretty sounds," logan growls against you, tongue flicking before pressing flat against you, "you're gonna wake the neighbours. c'mon, let 'em hear what i'm doin' to you."

your head is spinning, his words causing heat to pool low in your belly. he nuzzles against you, nose brushing against your swollen clit before he dives back down to your entrance, tongue dipping back inside to fuck you. it's almost too much, the way he makes light work of you as if it's so easy, as if he knows your body better than you know it, without even knowing more than just your name.

"that's it," he coos, grinning between your thighs as he kisses his way back up to your swollen bud once more, "moan for me, wanna hear you scream. i told you, want them to hear how good i'm fuckin' you." that's when you feel them, his thick fingers circling against your hole, teasing you, almost warning you.

but it's not a warning, it's a promise. one that you want - no, fuck that, one that you need. you roll your hips a little in response, moaning and whimpering beneath him, pleading without words.

logan smirks, he knows what you need, of course he knows. he saw the way you eyed his hands, the way you watched him flex them subconsciously - he knew you wanted them buried inside of your begging cunt as soon as he entered the apartment, could smell your want, your hunger.

he was paid to protect you, after all, and how better to protect you than to keep you fucked out in his hands at all times?

just one, at first. one finger slides inside, testing you. it's tight, really tight, and wet, a soft slick sound filling the air as his finger slides inside of you. "oh, been a good girl have you?" logan teases, but it's not like he cares how many people you've been with before him. he's the only one who's ever going to matter, anyway.

then another, you're gasping and moaning at the feeling of him filling you. his fingers are pretty big, much bigger than your own. his tongue dances across your clit, urging you to relax as he stretches you, and you do. he feels you settling, a groan rumbling from his throat as he eases into you.

but when a third finger enters on the next thrust, you're gripping the sheets and calling his name. it's thick, his three fingers filling you almost completely. you wonder how big he actually is and how he compares to his fingers, but your thoughts dissipate as he begins pumping them in and out of you steadily.

"that's it, there we go. . ." logan hums, his voice muffled as he eagerly laps at you with his large tongue, "daddy never let you have any fun, babygirl?"

he grins, ". . . but, daddy ain't here right now though, is he?"

your breath catches in your throat, looking down at him through hooded lids as he fucks his fingers into you faster. his eyes are locked on yours, lips and tongue lavishing your clit with the attention he knows it deserves.

"never had a man like me before, have ya?" logan mumbles, mouth half full with you, "never had a man to really show you how it's done."

you'd answer if you could, but your mind feels like liquid, unable to form or grip any solid coherent thought other than you don't want this to stop, don't want it to ever stop. instead, you tug at his hair, moaning his name over and over like a prayer. his name tastes sweet on your lips, a name you know you'll be calling out in a lust-filled haze on nights when you're particularly lonely. nights where you want, crave the touch from that stranger who nestled between your thighs and lapped like you were a fresh spring and he, a desperate parched man.

he feels you flutter around his fingers and he smirks against your clit. the sweet symphony of your moans reverberating against his ears has his dick twitching in his jeans, aching for release, aching to replace his fingers.

but not now, not while you're writhing so perfectly for him, coming undone at just a few strokes. you wonder how you would handle his cock when you're already close to bursting with his fingers, but who could blame you? the way he curls and pumps and glides them in and out of your tight pussy, you'd think he already knew all of your sweet spots, knew you inside out, without knowing you at all.

logan is just a stranger, but you know the memory of him will be burned between your thighs, making you throb, forever.

"gonna cum, aren't you?" he growls against you, picking up the pace. his fingers curl just slightly, enough to brush against your spongey g-spot on the next thrust, just enough for you to tense up and gasp.

you can't deny it either, there's a tidal wave coming that threatens to destroy you. it's rising slowly. you can't stop it. and it's crafted by him, by the man between your thighs. but you don't want to stop it, you just worry about who you'll be when you resurface on the other side, gasping for air, lost at sea, changed forever.

nodding, you let a whine slip from your lips, feeling a sensation build, your breathing ragged. it's coming, you're cumming. and instead of taking it easy on you, calming the waters, logan encourages the overwhelming waves with a curl of his fingers.

that's all it takes, all it takes for you to cum harder than you've ever cum before. you feel a gush, hot liquid coating your thighs and along his face as he fucks his three fingers into you deeper, hitting that same spot in every thrust. you're screaming his name, fist clenching in his hair in an iron grip as you roll your hips against his face. he's taking it too, tongue assaulting your clit in all the right ways to increase the pitch of your desperate screams.

and he loves it, loves the way you become so messy for him, coating those fresh sheets and his skin. he's moaning too, not that you can hear it over your ecstasy, but it's there, low like a growl beneath every cry.

"good girl. . ." he groans, pumping his fingers in and out of you relentlessly as you clench around him rhythmically, feeling his cock throb in his jeans at the sensation. he just knows you'll take him so well, knows you'll sound even better when it's his fat cock you're cumming around instead of his fingers.

it's almost too much, feeling yourself come apart at the seams as he stitches you back together with those calloused fingers of his through each thrust. and just as quickly as the waves come, they calm all at once, washing over you slowly, sending goosebumps rippling across your soft, supple skin. logan slows too, licking stripes along your cunt to catch the remnants of your release.

"holy shit," he grins wolfishly, proudly as he presses a few kisses to the inside of your thigh, "don't need to introduce myself to the neighbours anymore, i guess, already know me by name."

you flush deeply, running your fingers through your hair as you release his, resting back against the bed fully. there's a witty quip on the tip of your tongue, but it melts away at the feeling of him pulling his fingers out of you.

"this. . . can't happen again," you whisper, shaking your head as your eyes fix on the ceiling above you.

but logan smirks, he knows you don't really mean that. knows you're just trying to convince yourself that you won't crave him in your core, that he won't flash in your mind when another person finds their home between your thighs.

"whatever you say, princess," he shrugs, sitting up as he wipes your delicious slick from his beard and chin.

you glance up at him, his bare chest, muscles tensing coupled with those pretty blue jeans. fuck. fuck. this wasn't happening. dad would kill him, kill you too probably.

"but," you find yourself beginning to speak, unable to stop the words from fighting their way out, "suppose it could be our secret. . . if it did."

ah, there it is. there's the admission logan knew was coming. he knew it was gonna come the second he wrapped his lips around that swollen little clit of yours. you just needed someone to fuck you right, fuck you proper, fuck you dirty like you deserve.

besides, logan never really liked playing by the rules, anyway.

[killerpancakeburger]

Thinking about a Reader who ends up having Scary Dog Privileges with Ghost without meaning to. It just happened.

Then they have to deal with the fact that this comes with duties too.

Tags: civilian!reader, gn!reader, mostly fluff, a bit suggestive, smug!Ghost, smooth!Ghost. 800 words.

Part 2. Part 3.

When Ghost is reluctant to getting sutured in Medical after accidentally opening his stitches, grumbling he can do it himself, who does the nurse call for? Yeah, you.

She could stand her ground, after all she's used to dealing with big, whiny men, but it's much more fun to knock on your door and smile at your bewildered gaze and gaping mouth when she explains the situation in two sentences.

"Ghost's being difficult, mind taking over?" "I'm sorry, what the hell does this have to do with me?" "C'm'on, everyone on base knows he's got a soft spot for you. Don't you want to make my job easier?"

You roll your eyes and slam your hands on your desk as you get up. Groaning as you walk past her— "I'm doing this for you, nothing else, got it?"

Mumbling to yourself "you've got to be kidding me" as you barge into the sick bay. Ghost is coolly seated at the end of a bed, large as life, casual clothes as black as his mask and— oh. You weren't told the wound was on his thigh— you weren't warned that he didn’t have pants on. You can’t help it, your eyes go down, down, your lingering gaze and your flustered silence forming a confession louder than words.

A noise — a scoff or a grunt, you’re not sure — emanates from him, breaks your trance, makes you look up. The amusement in his gaze tells you he noticed your oggling— of course he did. Nothing gets past the Ghost, and you've been remarkably unsubtle. Despite the mask, you swear you can make out the smug smirk on his lips. His cockiness reignites your irritation. Annoyance making you bolder than you really are, you charge at him, crossing the distance between you two in a stride, stopping close— too close. He doesn't back off.

"What's wrong with you?" you snarl. "Nothin'," he retorts, imperturbable.

It's actually the first time you’re overlooking him. You may be enjoying it a bit too much. Nevermind the fact that you've had to wedge yourself between his parted legs to get there.

You frown, unconvinced by his answer.

“Did Soap contaminate you?”

Bargaining to be cleared out earlier was the Scotsman's trademark.

“Johnny throws a fit cos he hates feeling useless. That's not what I'm doing.”

A smirk stretches your lips.

“Oh, no? I'm sure your reasons are much more noble.”

“Doesn't matter. Got what I wanted anyway.”

He's way too self-satisfied for a man in his underwear.

You throw an unequivocal look in the direction of his injury.

“What you wanted? A still open wound?”

“You.”

He replied without missing a beat, as confident as usual. It is both alluring and aggravating.

“And your idea of wooing me is making me upset?”

You don't add “because if it is, that's really fucking stupid” out loud, but you’re sure he got the message through your tone.

“Nah. But you're more honest when you’re angry. Gutsier.”

You only realize he slipped his index and middle fingers in your trouser loops when he sharply tugs at them. Off balance, you steady yourself by catching his shoulders.

Taking advantage of the strip of bare skin between your shirt and bottoms, the pads of his thumbs idly stroke your hip bones. The contact sends electricity through you, shivers of pleasure running down your sides.

“Ghost,” you start, severe, trying not to let the effect his touch has on you show in your voice.

“Simon,” he counters, surly. “Told ya it's Simon when we're alone, didn't I?”

He did, but you didn’t think he was serious. If that's what it takes to get him to listen… you’ll play by his rules.

“Simon. What's the rest of your brilliant plan? I'm here, but I can’t stitch you up.”

“How ‘bout a deal. I'll stop resisting… for a price.”

You raise an amused eyebrow.

“What kind of price?”

“A kiss.”

You snort. You didn’t believe him capable of something so… puerile.

“With the mask on?”

He doesn't move a muscle to get rid of it.

“Take it off.”

You usually wouldn’t obey what sounds like an order so easily, but it's the first time you get to touch the skull. Slipping two fingers between skin and cloth, you slowly roll up the mask all the way under his nose.

You gently trace the scars surrounding his lips. Then, the second you feel him relax, grip on your hips slackening and intensity of his gaze waning, you grab the bottom of his mask and drag it back down vigorously, making the holes for the eyes land way too low for him to see anything.

“If you thought you'd get a reward for acting out, you've got another think coming.”

[sol-flo]

i'm going to destroy this damn phone

- the boss avoider

[neverendingford]

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